Guinevere stole through the streets of Ars Moran, Ava padding along beside her. She may be the Promised Queen, but she’d lived her entire adult life isolated, locked away in her manor — and she was only ever seen by the public in the most beautiful of dresses, with a full royal suite of the best makeup and most marvelously styled hair. Wearing her hair in an ordinary ponytail, going without makeup, running around in ordinary traveling clothes — pants, no less! something the Promised Queen was never seen wearing in public — and popping a cap on her head went a long way to keeping her from being recognized. Ava might be recognized — at thirty-five pounds it was hard for her to go unnoticed, and she was such a beautiful dog with such a lustrous white coat that Guinevere would be offended if no one noticed her — but there were so many dogs in Ars Moran. People would be likely to throw a second glance their way, but upon seeing a young woman who looked nothing like the Promised Queen, they’d dismiss their suspicions as nonsense.
Anonymity was easy for the Promised Queen. And Guinevere found that anonymity refreshing and freeing. She could stride through avenues flanked by numerous market stalls without anyone stopping her, without guards trailing along behind her. She could go where she wished, at her own pace, and look people in the eye without them dipping their head and opening the conversation with endless honorifics. She could be among the people, among the smells and the sounds and the hustle and bustle, jostled this way and that by crowds who thought her just another one of them.
It was exciting. But she couldn’t savor that excitement.
She had places to go. She’d traded out a mother-mandated itinerary for her own self-directed schedule, and she couldn’t delay. Not yet. There would be time for free, relaxed exploration, but not here, not now.
Not until she reached that most fantastical of realms.
Wonderia.
She wondered what it would be like. She had never been to Wonderia before, had only seen it in illustrations, read about it in storybooks, heard about it in conversation from those who had been there and back. Guinevere’s world was all high towers, stone and glass, cramped streets, with the only real reprieve of nature being found in parks and gardens she rarely was allowed to visit, and then always with an escort. There was a rolling country beyond the city, but it was a rolling country she hadn’t seen since her childhood — and it was too familiar despite that. She knew the trees of this world, the streams, the shrubs, the flowers.
She knew the sky here. Blue, with scattered clouds, and a golden sun during the day. Dark and twinkling with stars at night. One pale moon that shone during the day, and another that glistened silver in the night.
Even the sky was different in Wonderia. She couldn’t wait to see it. And so many other details, so many other impossible sights and sounds, things she’d only read about, heard about…
Or talked about. With him.
Artorius.
The way his clear blue eyes lit up when he spoke about the Wonderian sky, or how he nearly sang as he spoke of there always being “a song on the air.” Wonderia. What a marvelous place it must be.
He isn’t dead.
She wouldn’t believe it. But she couldn’t think about him, now. He was a part of this journey, because he’d always be a part of her heart.
But she was doing this for herself. She had a greater purpose than trying to bring back a missing person who’d let the rest of the world believe he was dead, and abandoned her forever. She had a greater wish, one that must be fulfilled.
Her journey took her from cacophonous market neighborhoods and their dense streets full of steam-spewing automobiles and bustling pedestrians to the Quarter of Order, home to the great cathedral of the Score. Ars Lirica, the headquarters of the Knights in their many chivalric orders, stood largest and most prominent, the ancient stonework of its majestic cathedral as austere as ever, its stained glass windows displaying scenes and characters from the Book of the Promise.
Here tonight, though the market neighborhoods were as lively as ever, the Quarter of Order stood silent and still. A breeze across the wide, circular plaza carried the sound of the fountains and wind chimes, and the fragrance of the carefully planted and pruned flowering trees. Two knights stood guard at the gates of Ars Lirica, and other than them, so far across the plaza that they would barely be able to see Guinevere, there was no one else. The other Order-specific buildings stood unguarded, closed off from regular traffic.
Guinevere’s destination was to the left, one of these high and mighty institutions — Ars Umbra, the headquarters of the Order of Aurora, an all-female order of specialists in several intertwining fields, focused on investigating and quelling the supernatural terrors that so many unsuspecting citizens of Albia had no idea existed.
It was also the home to Guinevere’s very best friend — and the only person in the world who wouldn’t turn in the runaway Promised Queen.
Guinevere entered through a side door — a side door that would normally be locked, but was left unlocked in anticipation of Guinevere’s arrival. Ava rushed ahead of her, tail wagging excitedly. “You know where we are, don’t you?” Guinevere asked with a smile. They had only been here together once before, on the rarest of occasions — a mother-sanctioned outing! — but the place hadn’t changed at all in the six years since. The antechamber they found themselves in had small stained-glass windows portraying images of the seven Valkyries, the great heroines from the Song of Serenity, in various scenes of triumph over the Nocturne Lords, phantoms of the darkness. Even at night, the images were beautiful to behold, softly illuminated by the silvery light of the moon. Faintly, the song of a pipe organ could be heard. There was always someone playing after sunset, and from the song choice — “Ode to Our Fair Glories Past” — and the key change as it shifted from the second to third verse, Guinevere was fairly certain she knew who was playing, and the knowledge brought a smile to her lips.
Through the antechamber they rounded a corner to a hall, and then through that to another hall, and then through a glass door to the hub that held doors to the offices of each of the officers of the Nocturne Special Investigations Unit. The lights were on in all of the offices, but it was the largest one, directly across from the entrance to this wing, that Guinevere and Ava approached. The door was cracked open a few inches, invitingly so, and Guinevere knocked as she entered.
Inside, she found Captain Rosalie Grants, head of the Nocturne Special Investigations Unit, seated at her desk. She was just one year older than Guinevere, having recently celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday, and she was quite short, with long, pin-straight indigo hair beneath her purple officer’s cap adorned with the golden Valkyrie pin of a unit captain. She had a slender face with kind, gentle eyes, and carried herself with perfect posture, wearing her uniform — jacket, short cape, skirt, and high boots — with dignity and grace. Her face lit up with the sweetest smile Guinevere knew at the sight of Ava, and as she petted her she looked up at Guinevere, who closed the door and took off her cap.
“So you pulled it off,” Rosalie said, her voice a mixture of awe, amusement, and slight admonition. She had the straightforward, uncultured accent of her homeland, the Cyril Republic, but she had such a dignity and poise that she gave that accent a culture all its own. She petted Ava all over, and Ava rested her head on Rosalie’s thigh, letting out a contented sigh, her wagging tail a barometer of her happiness. “What happens next?”
“I need your help,” Guinevere said, not taking the seat Rosalie offered her. “You have multiple doors to Wonderia here, right?”
Rosalie raised an eyebrow. “And what might you want with one of those?” she asked.
Guinevere placed a hand on her hip, eyeing Rosalie with an unamused expression. “You know what.”
“And I’m not sure I approve,” Rosalie said with a slight pursing of her lips. “Guin, you can’t go alone.”
Guinevere shifted from one foot to the other. “I… was hoping you’d come with me.”
Rosalie smiled. “I thought you were working up to asking me.”
Guinevere stepped forward hopefully. “Then you will?”
“I… can’t,” Rosalie said with a sigh. “Well, I suppose ‘can’t’ isn’t entirely accurate. But I’m in the middle of a major investigation. There’s a new nocturne prowling the Industrial Quarter, one we haven’t classified yet. I have fantastic lieutenants, but… I’m afraid they’re out of their depth on this one. I can’t abandon them.”
Guinevere sighed, finally dropping into the offered seat. “Duty and responsibility,” she muttered. “I know. That’s… why I’m leaving.”
“To find him?”
“Not directly.” Guinevere hesitated, and Ava came to her, nosing her knee encouragingly. “I need to find Elysia.”
Rosalie didn’t laugh, didn’t argue, didn’t debate. She smiled, reaching over and taking Guinevere’s hand in hers. “I wish I knew something about Elysia. Even the slightest clue. So all I can offer you is encouragement, and my prayers for your success. The world won’t offer you much support. But know that I believe you will succeed. And if a time comes that I’m not drowning in work that my subordinates can’t handle, I’ll be there for you. And if there’s an absolute emergency, then even if I’m drowning in work, I’ll be there for you.”
Guinevere smiled, squeezing Rosalie’s hand. “That’s all I need.”
“Not all you need,” Rosalie said, smiling as she turned around in her swiveling chair. She opened a long drawer in her desk, and pulled out a silver-hilted rapier in a scarlet scabbard. “As you requested. It arrived just yesterday.”
“So he came through after all!” Guinevere said, gasping in awe as she took the sword from Rosalie. It was startlingly light, lighter even than the swords favored for court fencing. She drew the blade from its sheath, relishing in the song as it slid from the scabbard, and Ava’s ears perked up as she gazed at the sword. Faint, elegant tracery ran down the center of the blade, all thirty-four inches of it, in marvelous Elysian script atop a musical score. “Oh, but this is beautiful. Rosalie, you must tell him that he has outdone himself this time.”
“He did call it his masterpiece,” Rosalie said with soft laughter. “I believe he said, ‘Our Promised Queen deserves the best sword in all the realms.’ ”
Guinevere smiled. “Well, he has lived up to his lofty claims,” she said. She sheathed the sword and stood, attaching it to her belt and adjusting the lengths of the two attachment points before finding the fit and angle she liked best. It wasn’t something she was used to, actually carrying a sword at her side.
But she would get used to it now.
“Then it’s off for you, I suppose,” Rosalie said, standing as well. She only came up to Guinevere’s shoulder — and Guinevere was rather short, herself — but Guinevere knew that the diminutive captain concealed tremendous fighting skill and strength. “Do be careful, won’t you, Guin? And you too, Ava. Take care of her. She’s too reckless for her own good.”
“Oh, she knows,” Guinevere said, stroking Ava’s ears. “And she always comes through for me.” She looked at Rosalie, and then clenched her teeth over a sudden surge of emotion. It wouldn’t do to cry now, not when she was going exactly where she wanted to be, and when she knew she would see Rosalie again. “Take care of yourself, won’t you? You work too hard.”
“And you don’t work hard enough,” Rosalie said with a laugh. They hugged each other tight. “I’m not leaving you yet, you know.”
“I know,” Guinevere said. “It’s just… easier to get the hardest part over with now.” Rosalie murmured her agreement, and Guinevere hugged her tighter a moment longer.
And then Rosalie led her carefully, watchful for anyone who might notice the two of them together, down to the lower levels. Down winding stairs and ancient, winding corridors they went, eventually emerging into a dimly lit chamber with a door detached from any wall, standing on its own in the center of the room. It looked ordinary enough, with no special or intricate markings, nothing too elaborate or fanciful about its design and polish. But Guinevere knew this door was one of the most special and unique doors in all the realms.
“A door to Wonderia,” Guinevere breathed, gazing in awe. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she clenched her hands into fists. She knew she would need nerves of steel. She’d known before all this started, and she’d displayed such multiple times already, she thought. Now, here she was, at the proper start of her journey. Escaping the manor, finding her way here, all the planning and preparation leading up to it, all that had been prelude. Now, finally, she was getting started.
“I can’t guarantee where this will lead,” Rosalie said. “I can’t use any of the Keys without going through official channels. It would be approved, but then there would be a paper trail.”
“And we can’t have that,” Guinevere said. “It must be as difficult as possible for people to follow my footsteps.”
“Yeah, I figured that’s what you wanted,” Rosalie said. “But that means I can’t direct the pathway. Be ready for anything.”
“Oh, I am,” Guinevere said. She gave Rosalie one last hug, and then watched as Rosalie opened the door. In the open doorway, a wall of light stood glimmering, shining, obscuring all that might lie beyond. Guinevere looked down at Ava, who looked up at her, tail wagging in excitement. That was all the encouragement she needed. With a smile, Guinevere strode forward, passing through the door, through the light, taking her first steps into a different world.
——
“You’re ready to leave right away?” Tobias asked, surprised at Alice’s claim.
“Of course!” Alice said. The child crossed her room, carefully navigating the organized piles of books and toys all over the floor to an alcove at the back, where she hefted a black-and-white trunk larger than she was. With an effort, she lifted the trunk over a pile of books, set it down with a thunk on an open space of floor, and pulled out a concealed handle. That was when Tobias realized the trunk was on wheels, as Alice wheeled it along behind her with a smile. “I’m all packed. I don’t want to delay any further than is necessary. Are you prepared?”
“I am,” Tobias said. He didn’t need much. Wherever he and Flynn went, they were always ready for anything. Beside him, Flynn’s fluffy red-brown tail wagged. “I take it you have a door to Wonderia here?”
“You are correct,” Alice said, opening the door and heading out into the hall. Tobias followed after her, Flynn trotting along beside him, head up, pointy ears perked, eyes bright. “And don’t fret about anything you might need but are too humble to request. I have plenty of food, cooking utensils, numerous blankets and pillows, and plenty else besides. You will want for nothing.”
“That’s quite generous of you,” Tobias said. He resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. It was a somewhat comical sight, this child carting around a trunk larger than she was. But Alice carried herself with such confidence that he felt no urge to laugh. Just as he’d thought from his first look at her — though she was a child, she carried within her a dignity and maturity far beyond her years.
Whoever this mysterious girl was, she knew what she was doing. Nearly every word she said, every action she took, everything about her, raised so many questions. For all the size of this mansion, she clearly lived here alone with Mister Carroll. For all the grandeur of the mansion, it was tucked out of the way, ignored by high society and the wider world.
But Tobias didn’t ask idle questions. He observed, gathering information for himself, but did his best not to pry. These two had decided to live here alone for their own reasons.
Tobias could understand the desire to keep to oneself. He knew the value of secrecy.
“Mister Carroll!” Alice called from the top of the stairs. “We’re starting our journey. I’m trusting you to look after the house, as always.”
“As always, Alice,” Mister Carroll said. Tobias very nearly jumped — the man seemed almost to materialize from the shadows at the base of the stairs, shadows Tobias had been certain were empty. He bowed gracefully. “Do not hesitate to return home if the need arises.”
Alice smiled, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. She led the way down the stairs, letting her wheeled trunk ka-thunk and ka-thud with every step. She didn’t ask for help, and Tobias didn’t offer it. She seemed content taking care of her trunk on her own, and seemed to rather enjoy her noisy descent.
Back in the grand entrance hall, they turned a sharp right, looping around through a service corridor to a white door with a white-framed looking glass in its center. Alice retrieved a key from her jacket pocket and opened the door, leading the way through, down a long, straight stairway. Despite descending into windowless halls, the space grew lighter the farther down they went. Looking-glasses adorned the walls, reflecting white light from a source that Tobias couldn’t place. Perhaps from the mirrors themselves? When he glanced at one as he passed, he didn’t see his reflection. Only the walls, the ceiling, the space around him. Not himself.
Ka-thunk, ka-thud, ka-thunk went Alice’s trunk, all the way down, dozens and dozens of stairs. Flynn’s ears twitched at every step, in curiosity and amusement, Tobias thought, rather than discomfort or annoyance.
Because Tobias thought it curious and amusing, too. And he and Flynn were frequently on the same page.
They reached the bottom, a vast white chamber of tiled floors, walls, and ceilings. It was absurdly vast, and empty.
Empty save for one door, right in the middle, unattached to any wall. The door, too, was white, with a red-brown wooden frame.
“Our door to Wonderia,” Alice said, gesturing grandly.
“Do you have a key?” Tobias asked.
Alice smirked, amusement glittering in her eyes. “Now where would the fun be in that?” she asked. “No, I don’t have a key. Are you lacking confidence in your ability to guide me from an unknown destination?” Tobias just looked at her, not answering her question verbally. Alice laughed. “Oh, yes, you’ll do nicely. Come on, then, Tobias, Flynn. Let us begin our journey.” She flung open the door, revealing a wall of glittering golden light.
“Let me go first,” Tobias said. “To ensure your safety.”
“Ah, a gentleman,” Alice said, stepping aside. Tobias and Flynn walked straight on, through the wall of light. There was a brief moment of totality of light, too bright to see anything else. Accompanying that was a brief period of weightlessness. Vertigo could easily grip the uninitiated. Tobias and Flynn were used to this travel, the passage between realms, so after a few steady, confident steps, they emerged onto a vast green field beneath that quintessentially Wonderian sky, a deep green-blue, streaked with marvelous golden and magenta clouds. It was nighttime back in Albia, but here in Wonderia it was the middle of the afternoon, bright and clear and startlingly beautiful. Birds sang nearby, a beautiful four-part harmony unlike any bird song in Albia. And in the distance, carried on a cool, gentle breeze, were fainter songs, songs one could barely hear, and then only if they listened for it. The sweet fragrance of flowers were carried on that same breeze that tousled Tobias’ hair, and warmth embraced his heart.
Wonderia felt like home. And he’d been away for too long.
That joy didn’t last long, though. As he turned in a circle, surveying the area, before Alice even stepped out through the door to join him, he realized where they were.
There, far in the west — hedge mazes, rose gardens, a majestic scarlet palace, and high towers with heart-shaped peaks. His heart sank, and beside him, Flynn whimpered softly.
“And here we are,” Alice said, emerging onto the field with easy familiarity. “Oh, it’s a lovely day, isn’t it? Where should we go first?”
“Far from here,” Tobias said. He turned away from the distant palace and the gardens, starting off in the opposite direction. “We’ll follow that road down there. It’ll take us to safer lands.”
“Safer?” Alice asked, hurrying after him and Flynn. “What danger are we in now?”
“The Queen of Hearts,” Tobias said grimly. “We’re on her lands. And she doesn’t take kindly to intruders.”
——
Roland felt a familiar knot in his back, born of stressful tension, as the cab pulled up in front of the Tower. It was his workplace, a place he’d dreamed of being a part of since he was a child, and ever since he’d achieved that dream…
Well. Not all dreams lived up to a child’s imaginings.
The Tower stood at the very heart of Ars Moran, but despite its lofty name, it wasn’t, in fact, the tallest spire in the capital. That belonged to Ars Lirica, the great cathedral that served as the headquarters of the Knightly Orders. But what the Tower lacked in height, it made up for in sheer overwhelming size. It wasn’t a short building, not by any stretch of the imagination, but more than that, it was vast. A perfectly round spire half a mile in diameter, it not only was filled upwards but also down beneath the earth, with more levels belowground than above. Its surface was dark and imposing, black at first glance but, on closer inspection, actually a very deep, dark green, its stonework embedded with microscopic crystal dust that sparkled gently when the sun hit it. One sweeping, grand tiled staircase, wide enough for dozens to walk up and down abreast, led the way up to the massive single double-doors that served as the only entrance or exit. The Tower had no windows, its surface was impossibly smooth, and even a massive revolt involving explosives of a staggering scale thirty years ago had failed to so much as scar the Tower’s great walls.
From the outside, it was imposing, almost frightening. Inside, while the scale remained staggeringly awe-inspiring, it was actually quite beautiful. Roland always loved that contrast, how the frightening exterior held within it a wondrous fantasy. It truly would be the perfect place to work — if not for some of the company involved.
There were lovely people in the world, Roland knew that. He only wished more of those lovely people worked in the Tower, and more of the people who did work in the Tower, well…
Didn’t.
But he wasn’t going inside the Tower, not today. He paid the driver and climbed out of the cab with the mysterious twins in tow, avoiding the grand staircase and heading around the right, across the spacious campus constructed around the Tower towards the place where he lived — the Academy.
It wasn’t the only academy in Albia, of course. Not even the only academy in the kingdom, nor even in Ars Moran. Formally the Academy Canticum Crystallus, it was both a school and research facility dedicated to the Tower, Elysian lore, Crystals, and Fantasians. Perhaps it was arrogant, but the people who studied and worked at the Tower and Canticum Crystallus almost universally referred to it as simply, “The Academy.” Roland had come here when he was just fifteen, the youngest in his class, and graduated… well, with good enough grades, allowing him to stay on as a researcher at the Tower and to live at the Academy. He may be only a Second Level Tuning Assistant, but it was surprising how being so low on the totem pole afforded one greater freedoms than those with power enjoyed.
And even if the work environment didn’t live up to his dreams, the fact that he got to be inside the Tower almost every day, that his life continued to revolve around this type of research with the widest range of reference materials on offer, was a worthwhile tradeoff. There was nothing in the entire world like it.
The twins kept up with him easily, the girl gazing up at the Tower in awe, the boy holding her hand so she didn’t wander off the path. “We’re not going inside the Tower?” the girl asked.
“That would be too conspicuous,” Roland said. “There are doors there, but I have a door that we can access more easily, without being asked too many questions.”
“Will you take us into the Tower someday, though?” the girl asked.
“Stay on task,” the boy said.
“We’ll have to see where our paths together lead,” Roland said. He had no idea how long they would be together. They’d only just met, thrown together by chance. Once in Wonderia, would they even ever come back to Albia together? Both Roland and the twins needed to get to Elysia. Once that was fulfilled…
Surely they would go their separate ways. Wouldn’t they?
No one can possibly see what lies down that road. If we do actually succeed and reach Elysia…
It won’t just be our wishes that are fulfilled. The whole world will change.
And the road to Elysia would be a long and, potentially, dangerous one. There were no easy answers to what lay in their future, now that they’d chosen to walk this road together. But Roland didn’t for a moment regret rescuing them.
There will undoubtedly be more of those masked villains pursuing them in the future. Will they follow us to Wonderia? I’ll need to stay wary.
The Academy Canticum Crystallus was an impressive building in its own right, but it seemed awfully small being so near the Tower. They entered through a side door, to avoid the potential scrutiny of whoever might be manning the main desk, and left behind the wide open expanse around the Tower for the Academy’s warm, cozy halls. Up two flights of stairs, they reached one of two residential wings, this one for men. Surveying the hall and finding it empty, Roland hurried ahead, the twins hot on his heels. His chambers lay halfway down, an oft-forgotten door tucked beneath the north stairwell. The problem about this location, and where he’d chosen to enter, was that midway between where he was and where he was going was the door to the chambers of Wilfred Molina Potter, Tuning Maestro for the Tower. By all rights, a man of his stature should never even notice someone as insignificant of rank as Roland. But Wilfred had locked onto Roland from day one, and proved a constant thorn in his side.
“Let’s hurry,” Roland said, rushing along carpeted floors. The twins raced along with him, the boy focused, the girl grinning with exhilaration.
The moment they passed the door to Wilfred’s chambers, it opened. Roland didn’t stop, even as Wilfred stepped out and called after him in that booming, boisterous voice. “Assistant Roland! I’m still waiting on those Lesser Fantasian reports!”
“I’m almost finished!” Roland called back, not even looking over his shoulder at the man.
“Assistant Roland!” Wilfred called. “What on earth are you running for? Why must your work always come late? Who are those children with you? Don’t you dare ignore me! Assistant Roland!”
Roland was swift with his key, undid the lock to his door, and ushered the children inside before slipping in himself and shutting and locking the door behind them. He slumped against the door, gasping for breath, his chest tight, ignoring the continued bellows of the Maestro.
“Oh, that was exciting,” the girl said, running her fingers through her platinum-blonde hair, smoothing it out after it was tousled during their short dash.
“Why are you wheezing?” the boy asked, eyeing Roland with disdain. “That was barely fifty yards, and we didn’t exactly run quickly.”
“It’s nothing,” Roland said, shaking his head. He slid down to sit on the floor, finding a rhythm and slowing his breathing. He looked at the girl, who was grinning at him, and a smile crossed his lips. “Yes, that was rather exciting, wasn’t it? I haven’t done something like that since I was a child.”
“You must live a rather sedentary life,” the boy said.
Well, that’s part of it.
“Okay,” Roland said, shaking his head and pushing himself to his feet. Perspiration pricked along his brow, which was frustrating. He did not like sweating. He paused a moment, and realization dawned on him. He held out his hand. “My name is Roland. I am a Second Level Tuning Assistant at the Tower, but more importantly to our purposes, I was once on the Path of the Eight, forming pacts with each of the Greater Fantasians.” He rolled up his sleeve, showing the twins his tattoos. “I succeeded at two, thanks to my Teacher’s excellent instruction, and… well, I’ve been off the Path for some time.” He collected himself, letting the guilt and grief flicker through him, and then fade away. “But I was preparing to return. And now, with your quest before you, this is the perfect time.”
“Because one who completes the Path of the Eight will find Elysia,” the girl said, eyes wide in understanding. She smiled. “My name is Erika, and this is my brother, Enrique. We’re twins, as I’m sure you could tell. We come from —”
“Far away,” Enrique said quickly.
“Yes,” Erika continued. “Our parents were the ones who started the mission that we have now taken on for ourselves. They had to abandon it —”
“For personal reasons,” Enrique said quickly.
Erika nodded. “We now chronicle the wishes of the world, to take with us to Elysia, and see them fulfilled.” She took Roland’s hand and shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roland. Thank you for your assistance.”
“How old are you?” Enrique asked, eyeing Roland critically.
“Thirty-four,” Roland said.
“You’re too young to struggle with such a short run,” Enrique said. “You should take better care of yourself.”
Roland winced… and then strode past the twins, not immediately responding.
His chambers were small, at first glance — though that was an illusion, one that was entirely unintentional.
Roland had too many books. And too many notebooks. And too many musical instruments. And musical scores. And sketchbooks. And trinkets, so many various trinkets, from genuine historical artifacts of unknown origin to cleverly designed wind-up toys that he purchased from a homeless genius named Gregorio Ferruccino.
His chambers were stuffed, stuffed full of stuff, all of it important, but, well…
Organization had never been Roland’s strong suit.
“I have a weak respiratory system,” Roland finally said, as he found what he was looking for — his keys. Not the keys he’d used to unlock his chambers, which also bore the keys to the various areas in the Tower he had clearance to. This was a separate key ring, a secret key ring. “I’ve done quite a lot to improve since I was a child, but for all my best efforts, and the best medical minds in the Kingdom, my limitations are starkly apparent. As you well noticed.” Not looking at the twins, he stepped carefully down the narrow path between towering stacks of books that led to the back of his chambers, and his closet door. He opened that door — it wasn’t locked — and then pushed aside the clothes hanging inside. He hummed a short melody as he traced a pattern on the inside wall with his finger. Six points lit up with blue light in time with the melody, and then, nearly noiselessly, a secret door opened in the back of his closet, revealing a wrought-iron descending spiral staircase.
“Are you sure you’re well for this journey, then?” Erika asked, coming up behind him and grasping his hand.
Roland looked back at her and smiled. “Oh, I know my limits quite well,” he said. “I’m weak, not an invalid. Exertion merely takes a greater toll on me, tires me out faster — I’m in no real medical danger. And I’ve been through harsher trials than you might believe. I am quite ready for another adventure.” And he was. His heart soared at the prospect of this new journey. At completing what he’d started with his Teacher. At walking the Path of the Eight to its conclusion.
At finding Elysia. At seeing his wish, and the wishes the twins carried, granted.
Roland started down the stairs, and Erika started to follow before Enrique grabbed her arm. “Where are you taking us?” he asked.
“To my own secret door to Wonderia,” Roland said, smiling at the twins. “It was a gift from my Teacher, as were these.” He held up the secret key ring, with its three ornate, specialized keys. “We don’t have to brave the paperwork and bureaucracy involved in taking one of the many known doors to Wonderia in the Academy or the Tower. And we don’t have to brave the whims of randomness in stepping keyless through a door. I can direct our path. And I know exactly where to start.”
“We already decided to trust him,” Erika said, quite matter-of-factly. Enrique’s expression made it clear what he thought of that. “And we need a guide. Preferably someone who’s kind, who’s honest, who knows what he’s doing, and won’t turn on us or turn us in. He’s already proven most of those qualities. We’ll find out quite soon if he knows what he’s doing.”
Ah. Well, if I was only going to qualify for certain criterion, I’m glad those are what I’m being tested on.
And, well…
I hope I know what I’m doing, too.
Six years. Six years since he’d left this road behind, racked with guilt and grief, broken by the cost of his own failures.
Six years, he’d been slowly working his way back. Slow and steady, careful research, theorizing, testing, but…
The planned timeline had suddenly, irrevocably, accelerated. As he led the way down the stairs, secret keys in hand, his heart pounded in his chest. Was he truly ready? All of his ideas, the breakthroughs he’d recently made…
They would all be tested. Once and for all. Out in the field, out where anything could happen.
Was he…?
I must be ready. I haven’t spent all this time studying, researching, and planning to never actually take the plunge. It’s just like when I entered the Academy Canticum Crystallus at just fifteen years old. Or when I took the exams for Second Level Tuning Assistant.
Or when I first met Teacher, and he gave me that magnificent offer, and I said…
“Yes.”
So say yes again, Roland. Take the plunge.
For Teacher. For the promise you made. For the wish you hold so dear.
And for these children, for their wishes, for their mysterious quest.
“There is no greater good than giving of yourself for the sake of another.”
With the words of his Teacher echoing in his mind, Roland reached the bottom of the stairs. There, he opened another secret door, and stepped through into a circular chamber, empty save for a door.
A door to Wonderia.
It stood in the center of the chamber, unattached to walls or ceiling, only floor. Its white frame nestled the lacquered red door, a silver-framed looking-glass on its surface. Brass handle and brass lock gleamed in the pale light of the crystal lamps.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Roland asked, retrieving his traveling pack from a hook on the wall. The leather bag felt heavier than last he’d worn it, and sat a bit lower than before when he slung it crosswise over his shoulders. He’d lost weight, he knew that, but he hadn’t really felt the effects of that until now.
“We have all we need,” Erika said. She clutched her journal, and her white feather pen. Otherwise, she had nothing else — no bag, no pouches, nothing. Enrique was the same.
“Well, if you do realize there are things you need,” Roland said, choosing one of his secret keys, “you’ll soon have plenty of options to purchase supplies.” He turned the key in the lock, heard that satisfying click! Turning the handle, he pushed the door open, revealing a glimmering wall of golden light. “We’ll begin on the road, but we’ll reach a town before nightfall. Shall we?”
“We shall!” Erika said, eyes glittering with excitement as she strode to Roland’s side. Enrique swiftly joined her, grasping her hand in one of his.
“Then let us begin,” Roland said. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward, into the light.
He barely noticed the vertigo-inducing effects of travel between realms. His mind, he realized, was on other things. His pounding heart, his past failures, his fear of failing again.
His excitement, his thrill, at what he would gain if he succeeded. And it wasn’t an impossible goal, not now. His research proved that. And he wasn’t going to walk this path alone.
His Teacher may be gone. But there was someone else he could call upon.
He only hoped she’d be willing to help.
When he emerged into Wonderia, he found his feet steady, his mind at ease. No ill effects.
It seems, even after six years, I’ve still got it.
To his surprise, the twins also emerged unaffected. Erika was beaming, and even Enrique looked excited as he gazed upon Wonderia. Here they stood, the three of them, on the winding green-stone Jadecut Avenue, the road that would take them to Wonderian civilization in an hour’s time. Tinton Terrace wouldn’t take up more than a single block in Ars Moran, but it was populated, friendly to Albians, and had a fantastic trade shop that would help fill any gaps in Roland or the twins’ preparedness.
Their journey had begun. Really, truly begun. And as he started along the path, answering Erika’s excited questions, Roland couldn’t help but smile.
It had been too long. But finally, he was back where he belonged.
——
“I’m late! I’m very, very late! Oh, the Queen will have my head!”
White raced along as fast as he could, his long, furry feet padding swiftly along the red tiled floor. His breathing came labored, but he couldn’t pause for breath now. His large pocket watch was clutched in his paw, and he kept checking the time, willing it to turn backwards, or at least to slow down. But time kept ticking forward, inexorable in its advance.
Why, oh why, was he always running late?
He tucked the watch in the pocket of his red waistcoat, slowing as he approached the grand heart-red, heart-shaped doors of the Queen’s audience chamber. A pair of tens — of hearts, of course; they were the only suit worthy of serving as the Queen’s royal guards — stood at attention, spears planted firmly, their red, heart-shaped blades shining in the light angling down through stained-glass windows. They didn’t step forward to block White’s way. Of course not. They knew White was the Queen’s most valued emissary, and they knew, if he was running in the main halls of the palace, that he was not to be interrupted or slowed in any way.
Everyone knew that the Queen despised tardiness.
White smoothed his long ears, adjusted his red-rimmed spectacles, and took one deep breath, letting it out before he opened the doors and stepped into the audience chamber.
“Apologies, my Queen, for my tardiness,” White said, bowing low and with the utmost respect. “I do have good reason for it, however —”
“You are not, in fact, tardy, my dear White,” said the Queen. Her voice was mellifluous and resonant, beautiful even as it carried the hardened edge of all of a Queen’s authority. “Rise and approach, and deliver your report.”
Not tardy? White didn’t voice the question in his mind, but when he rose and started down the long red carpet towards the throne, he noticed the clock high on the wall. 6:13, it read, and White was required to report back by 6:15. But his watch had very clearly displayed 6:23. Had he failed to wind it this morning? Had he not been wearing his glasses when adjusting the time? White was a creature of habit, surely he wouldn’t make those mistakes.
But his Queen seemed in high spirits today. And when the Queen of Hearts was in high spirits, she was positively radiant. Her red gown, with red, white, and black hearts embroidered all along its long, flowing layers, her red hair done up in a marvelous braided bun beneath her golden crown glittering with red, heart-shaped rubies, her red, heart-shaped lips, and her scarlet, passionate eyes all shown with attentive expectation. She had been waiting for White. He must not disappoint her.
“I will deliver my report second, my Queen,” White said, bowing once more. “I have unexpected news that is of the utmost importance. There are fresh intruders on your lands.”
“Intruders? So soon after we just imprisoned that impertinent young lady?” the Queen asked, leaning forward, elbows on her throne’s armrests, hands high, long red fingernails steepling in curiosity. “Do tell.”
There was that familiar hunger in her voice, hopeful and excited about what these new arrivals would bring. And White knew, when he told her exactly who one of those intruders was, she would be beyond delighted.
“There are two of them, my Queen. I did not recognize the girl, a child from Albia. But with her was a man, a man you have asked me to report on if he ever returned to your lands.”
The Queen’s eyes widened, her lips turning upwards in a smile. “Has he truly returned to me?” she asked, breathless with anticipation.
“Yes, my Queen. Tobias is here.”
The Queen of Hearts rose from her throne, the air around her crackling with scarlet electricity, a sign of her unmatched excitement. “Traveling without a key again, are we, Tobias?” she murmured. “And finally, your errant path brings you back to me.” She smiled at White, and tapped her scepter twice on the arm of her throne, its commanding resonance echoing beyond the bounds of the throne room. “Well, let’s not leave him waiting. Send out a welcome party.”